Life tearing at the seams
by Ayzilia
Summary: Jason is having a bad day, Tim says the wrong thing, and unfortunately Kon is around to witness the results.


Title: Tight Grip

Fandom: DCU

Paring: Tim/Kon, pre-slash if you squint

Warnings: Strong language. Superboy drops an f-bomb or two, or three...

Summary: Jason is having a bad day, Tim says the wrong thing, and unfortunately Kon is around to witness the results.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Joy and anticipation sang through Kon's body as he soared over the outskirts of Gotham. His homework lay completed on the coffee table back in Smallville, his chores had taken all of five minutes and in a few more minutes he'd have tracked down his favorite freaky bird-boy and pestered him into hanging out (if not rejoining the Titans). And yah, Kon knew Batman (the not nice edition, who apparently was back in the right time and may or may not be prowling Gotham once more) disapproved of metas in his city, but Kon hadn't heard from Tim all freaking week and dammit Kon missed his dosage of snarkiness. Batman 1.0 would just have to deal until Kon took his fill of Tim's company. After silence all week Tim owed him at least an attempted Batglare or two if not one of his small smiles. At least.

* * *

><p>Red Hood knelt beside Tim and fisted one gloved hand in the front of Tim's tunic. Kon's vision began to flicker red around the edges as Tim tried to raise his head, tried to pull a knee in or his hand up. Every attempted motion seemed to move through molasses, especially juxtaposed to the rapid hitching breaths moving Tim's chest. Red Hood raised his other hand, also fisted, and slammed it into Tim's face. Tim's head ricocheted back as Hood brought his arm up for another blow. Tim hung limp as a rag doll from Red Hood's grasp. Oh hell no. No, no no no.<p>

Kon's vision bled red.

Quickly, Kon raised his eyes so that the blast of energy shot over Red Hood's head, at most singing his hair a bit. Yeah, Batman already found him distasteful enough without him letting his anger govern his heat vision and actually _hitting_ people. Even if that person was Red Hood.

Luckily, shooting over the bow shifted attention from Tim to Kon.

Red Hood casually dropped Tim as he stood. Then laughed. With Tim laying bruised and bleeding at his feet, the fucker laughed, "Timmy's tag-a-long! What can I do for you?"

Kon fisted his hands and stayed hovering above the roof so that he looked down on Red Hood, "Get the hell away from Robin."

Hood's eyes narrowed in response to his demand. He mockingly put up his hands and backed towards the rooftop's ledge. Derision and bitter amusement leeched off every line of his body.

"Sure," he chuckled nonchalantly, "I'm about done with the pretender tonight."

Kon could feel himself shaking with rage.

"You're done with him forever," he ground out. "You hear me?"

Red Hood simply snorted and hopped off the rooftop.

Kon started to rise further into the air to follow, to beat that sick fuck into the ground and see how much he liked it, but a soft sound from behind him made him pause and turn. Tim moaned again, softer still, and started to curl into his side. Kon had a gentle hand on his shoulder before Tim's next heartbeat.

"Tim? Buddy? Can you hear me?" Kon kept his voice as gentle as he could, but the anxiety and rage choking him roughed his words into an almost growl.

Tim didn't respond. He lay on his side biting his lip and continuing those short shallow breaths though his nose. Through his mask, Kon couldn't even tell for sure if Tim's eyes were open.

"Tim?" Kon called again, pleading for Tim to respond.

Verbally he only let out another moan, one so quiet Kon might not have heard without the aid of his suped up sensory, but he also rolled a little further over, a little closer, and pressed his forehead against Kon's knee.

Kon reached out and brushed Tim's hair back with his gentlest touch, "It's ok, buddy. I'm gonna get you some help. Just hold on there."

Kon still hadn't figured on where precisely he should take Tim—the Cave? The bunker-thing Tim had mentioned? a hospital?—but no way was he letting his best friend lie on some dingy drizzly Gotham rooftop a moment longer. He scooped Tim into his arms. Using his TTK, he made sure to stabilize what looked like a broken collar bone as best he could.

"Put him down."

Kon clenched his jaw and worked to remember not to tighten his arms around his friend despite the renewed swell of anger rushing through his veins. Batman.

"I said," Batman bit out as he moved out of the shadows behind Kon, "Put him down, clone."

Kon turned to face him, legs braced, back ram rod straight, and Tim's head tucked against his chest. Tim's hand tangled in his t-shirt.

"I need to get Red Robin some help," Kon's voice matched Bats steel for steel, "Some psycho in a red helmet and a bomber jacket worked him over."

Kon thought about all the times he'd seen bruises on what little skin Robin's uniform showed (not that the new Red Robin suit showed _any_), all the injuries he knew Tim covered up, all the injuries he knew he had no clue about, and felt his anger ratchet up a notch—anger at the formidable man looming before him because that's where the buck stopped: Batman. Tim had done this for him, was bleeding and bruised and clenching his eyes shut in pain because of Batman. Because stupid, noble, anally responsible Tim believed Batman needed a Robin and had stepped up to the plate. And, ok, Kon knew he was being a little irrational, but he couldn't help but feel someone—like maybe the man responsible for his friend as a father—should have protected Tim from this.

"Red Hood?" Batman demanded.

"I guess," Kon growled, "Does it really matter right now?"

Batman growled right back and Kon decided he valued his balls thank you very much and now would be a good time to bank the Red Hood conversation for later. A very distant later. Even so, Kon had to very consciously push aside the rant he wanted to let loose—to be able to ask evenly, "Where should I take Rob for medical attention? He needs it."

Batman stalked forward, "_I'll_ take him to the cave."

"With my TTK I can move him without jostling him," Kon pointed out, "Just lemme know where to go."

Batman glowered.

Kon huffed a deep breath, "I just want to help him."

"Fine," Batman glared, but really did the guy have any other expression? "Follow me."

* * *

><p>Sitting in the passenger side of the Batmobile, Tim settled in his lap held stable courtesy of TTK, next to a particularly grim Batman certain ranked among the more surreal moments in Kon's sprint of a life. The city lights strobed past overhead as Bats navigated Gotham's traffic. Tim—thankfully to Kon's mind—had succumbed to unconsciousness, but without his best friend awake to run interference, Kon couldn't prevent the tickle of awkwardness that crept up his spine from forcing him to fidget. Batman's hands tightened—impossibly considering the stranglehold he already had going on—menacingly on the steering wheel. Kon very consciously held himself still as a statue after that and made a mental note to have a chat with Tim when all this was over about leaving Kon alone with his creepy-ass mentor ever again. Really, Batman seemingly disdained Kon's very existence and in return—logically to his mind—Kon was nothing but appreciative (not) of being reminded of his origin as a freaking science experiment and always seeing just the tip of the iceberg of what this man put Tim through. So throw a Batman and a Superboy together without a Tim-buffer handy and what results? Best case? Right—instant awkward of the excruciatingly tense variety.<p>

As uncomfortable as the trip felt, trapped in an enclosed space with the Batman and essentially Batman's son cradled against his chest (in his lap), Kon knew the Batmobile made extraordinary time. Soon they were rocketing through a dark tunnel and pulling into the Batcave. Alfred awaited them.

Batman vaulted out and, ever mindful of the lean frame bundled in his arms, Kon followed.

* * *

><p>Tim's hand anchored Kon in the midst of the blur of bright lights and terse tense voices and the electronic tones of the medical equipment.<p>

* * *

><p>"Kon?" Tim blinked up at him, eyes hazed over by some combination of sleep, pain, and medication, "Wha…? We're at the manor."<p>

Kon smirked and reflexively placed a hand on Tim's shoulder to still his attempts to sit up.

* * *

><p>"Oh hell no. I'm not leaving him here. He'll be awake in eight hours and asking to go on patrol and you'll let him!" Kon ranted as he burst through the door to Tim's room, an angry Batman in Bruce Wayne's clothes practically clipping his heels.<p>

"Really," Batman started to growl, but Kon scooped Tim into his arms bridal style once again, yanked the window open with his TTK hard enough from the panes to shudder, and zipped out into Gotham's perpetual gloom.

* * *

><p>Just as the cool mid-morning air, sprinkled with the feather light drizzle of the fog which had yet to lift, hit his face Tim thought he heard Bruce say wonderingly into the now empty bedroom, "Unreal."<p>

Tim raised his eyes to see a self-satisfied smirk growing on his super friend's face—which certainly supported Tim's suspicion, but he'd have to check the manor's security cameras to confirm.


End file.
